i think it's incredible, really. how you don't use a pick like those stupid boy bands, scared to get their hands sore. and your brother uses his flat fingertips, dirty and dry and desperate and plucks out these notes that i've heard from the sixties before. i don't even know how it works, i've never gotten into it, but it looks to me like you only need the blade of one finger and you can sing songs you've never thought about before and they make me smile and laugh and yeah, i want to write about you. is that okay? i think the words you say are beautiful. i think you have these thoughts that i ALWAYS want to talk about and discuss and we can spit out theories and stories like no one's business, and it's why you're my song. the one i like the most, honestly. i think i feel shy around you, which doesn't make sense. you should know, i talk about you a lot to people close to me.
is that okay?
and i really like how you noticed my cat looks at me a lot.
like he's searching for approval, right?
it's cause he thinks i'm his mom.
i wrote this song for you. it's not the reason that i left, but it's the one that kept me hanging on to you.
i bet you've heard those before.
i bet you will.
because you can listen when they only wail.
i wish they could let me go.
so i could embrace my wasteful days with someone like you.
dammit.
